


A Constant in the Dark

by sylvain



Series: A Case of You [2]
Category: The Order (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Dom Vera Stone, F/M, Femdom, Gentle Dom, Kneeling, Light Dom/sub, Memory Magic, Non-Sexual Submission, Pre-Relationship, Sub Hamish Duke, The Order Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27859309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvain/pseuds/sylvain
Summary: Every evening is the same. The acolyte reasons his way up the chain of command and into her office. Hamish looks at Vera with frantic, haunted eyes. He tells her about his piercing headaches, about the strange, sick feeling in his stomach. He insists something isn’t right with magic in the world. And she lets him comb the bookcase for answers. She grants him access to her library, because if he’s looking there, then he's not seeking answers in her.Set during the beginning of Season 2, but not canon-compliant.
Relationships: Hamish Duke/Vera Stone
Series: A Case of You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039533
Comments: 12
Kudos: 17
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	A Constant in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This may lean toward dubious consent due to the use of pulveris memoria (memory manipulation magic). However, magic is not used to force or coerce either party to act.

He drinks more. Eats less. Doesn't sleep.

Without his memories, Hamish is lost. He doesn’t remember Jack or Randall, but he craves a belonging The Order can’t provide. Doesn’t remember Lillith, but feels the void of her absence. Doesn’t remember his werewolf bond, but suffers Tundra’s unrest. 

Dark magic rings in his ears. He feels its sting. But he doesn’t understand. He needs to understand.

He studies. Everything. He devours knowledge. And each time he comes close to the truth, it’s all wiped away.

Vera sighs under the shuffle of Hamish's research. He pores over tomes of magic and history and she tries not to stare. His shoulders stoop and she rubs the small of her own back in sympathy. He's been at this for hours. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for. 

And it’s not the first time Hamish has come into Vera's office spouting warnings of dark magic only to get distracted by the grimoires. 

Every evening is the same. The acolyte reasons his way up the chain of command and into her office. He looks at her with frantic, haunted eyes. He tells her about his piercing headaches, about the strange, sick feeling in his stomach. He insists something isn’t right with magic in the world. And she lets him comb the bookcase for answers. She grants him access to her library, because if he’s looking there, then he's not seeking answers in her. 

Hamish whispers to himself as his fingers trail over weathered pages. He curses under his breath and moves on.

Vera leans back on her desk, watching him as pity curls like poison in her chest. He doesn’t know what he is, what he's capable of. She’s warned him that speaking spells aloud - even the incomplete mumbling of incantations - is dangerous. But she can’t blame him for not remembering. This version of Alyssa’s pulveris memoria is the strongest yet. 

Vera sips her drink, a cocktail Hamish mixed after she pulled him away from a particularly dangerous spell, and lets him putter about some more. One more hour, she tells herself. She'll give him one more.

There are books lining the small tables, spilling over to the floor. Hamish has long since abandoned the empty glass beside him. Vera's unsure as to when something other than brandy last touched his lips.

His voice steadies as he begins to read the next passage and Vera’s head snaps to him. 

“Stop!” Her tone is sharp, but the way Hamish quickly sits back - on his heels, back straight, eyes on the floor, hands in his lap - has her wondering if she let magic slip into her word. 

“Not that one,” she says, and comes around to stand before him. She scoops the grimoire into her arms and casts him a stern look. “You’re not to touch those on the highest shelf.” 

Hamish’s gaze turns to the stack of books to his left and his hands slip behind his back. 

Vera glares at the pile as she sets down the grimoire. "Is that all of them?”

Hamish nods. “I thought…” His voice catches and though he pushes himself to continue, his words are strained. “Everything looks familiar, but new? It's all wrong and I thought maybe these would be different…” When he looks up, the muscles of his jaw pulse with the effort it takes to hold back his frustration. 

Vera’s hand slides behind Hamish’s head, fingers curling in his hair, and he looks at her with bruised eyes and a small frown. Her heart aches seeing the poor state of him. The brokenness. The confusion. The desperation to find his pack, to understand what it all means. 

And she desperately wants to give him that: to return his memories, to find the spell that will bring Lilith-and-Timber back from the demon realm. But The Order will never allow The Knights to stand against them.

Vera pets his head, and his eyes shine wetly. They flicker to her lips and he swallows. He rises up on his knees, chasing her touch as he's done so many nights before, and this time she bends to place a kiss upon his brow. 

His eyes close as he leans into the contact - her hand in his hair, the counterpressure of her lips, the only things keeping him steady.

“Magus,” Hamish whispers, and it doesn’t feel like a demotion to her former station. 

Devotion passes over his tongue as he breathes the word. It weighs the title with more power than she’s ever possessed. 

Vera’s chest tightens and makes it hard to breathe. But she stands taller. She moves her hand around to hold Hamish by the throat. 

“Again,” she says, looking down at him, giving his neck a firm squeeze, holding him tight enough he can feel it. 

His pupils bloom and color floods his cheeks, but Hamish looks at her with trust, not fear. 

He’s a werewolf, even if he doesn’t realize it. Barring the use of magic, there is little Vera could do to hurt him. And there is nothing within her that wishes to.

Hamish meets her eyes, calls for her - “Magus” - and the rumble of his voice warms her palm.

“Good boy,” she tells him, her voice like dark honey. Vera cards her free hand through his hair and pulls his head to her. Hamish nuzzles against the fabric of her dress. 

She feels his shoulders twitch and she realizes his hands are still behind his back. “Such a good pet,” to obey her order not to touch. She runs her nails down his neck to his shoulders. “You can let go, if you-”

Hamish’s hands are on her thighs, sliding up to her hips, pulling at her waist before she finishes releasing the command. His large hands wrap around her, his face pressed against her belly, and she is fully engulfed by him. He shivers and shakes as she holds him in place. He whimpers and she thinks she can feel the heat of his tears. 

Vera looks up at the stained glass and reminds herself to breathe. 

“Shh,” she says without any real strength behind it. She lets him have this moment, this release. 

She thinks of the satchel of pulveris memoria in her desk and presses her lips together in a hard line. She smooths Hamish’s hair and he holds her more tightly. She closes her eyes, calls the powder to her palm, tells him, “Shh,” again.


End file.
